“You found the cabochon? After all these years?” He asked, incredulous. If she kept on, would she make it out of the door? Then what? He could come after her before she could reach the secret passage. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned.
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